Searching for Memories
by Mingsmommy
Summary: Zoe deals with loss. Post Serenity. Originally posted for the LastFanficAuthorStanding challenge at LiveJournal


**Dislaimer: **None of the characters contained herein belong to me. I am making no money from this fic.

A/N: Post _Serenity._ Originally posted for the Last Fanfic Author Standing Challenge. This is officially unbetaed, but I did apply the concrit provided by the challenge.

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The cabinet door slammed; the papers, mementos and trinkets spilled between the door and the floor doing nothing to muffle the sound. The slam and the accompanying curses in both English and Chinese could not be softened by any power in the 'Verse. 

In her saner moments, which to be fair, was most of the time, Zoe didn't hold anyone responsible. In the harder moments, the ones filled with anger and pain and ceaseless loneliness, she blamed everyone. She held River and Simon and Mal and Jayne and Kaylee and Parliament and Wash himself liable. All of them were accountable for the wreck of her heart, the wasteland of her soul.

"Zoe?" The quiet voice from the top of the ladder caused her to breathe in sharply. She filled herself with the breath; let it expand her stomach, her lungs and her throat. Slowly, she released the air, listening to it exit her body, a minor, mirrored sound of a miniature wave hitting a sandy beach.

"Yes, River?" Zoe's dark eyes rose to meet River's open gaze.

"I'm sorry."

The pale and earnest visage hovering over the bunk hatch cut through the haze of anger and Zoe took in a shaky breath. "Not your fault, River. Dong ma?"

"Still sorry." River's voice was half sincere apology, half petulant child.

Grudgingly, Zoe pursed her lips against a smile.

"Your menses started today," the girl stated sadly.

"How did…" the older woman stopped herself before the question formed fully. The child was a powerful Reader; she could probably tell Zoe when to expect her period from now until menopause. "Yes, it did."

"You hoped it wouldn't come." River tilted her head. "You hoped he had given you a baby before he died."

She rapidly blinked several times, pushing back the sudden, acid sting of tears. "Yes."

"You wanted something to remember him by." Statements, not questions, coming out in the girl's solemn tone.

Zoe swallowed. "I don't have…" She shook her head. "From the time we met, we were never apart for more than a few hours, even before we were together."

She looked down, avoiding the girl's gaze for a moment. "We were either here on this boat or off the boat together. He never had a reason to send me a wave or write me a letter. Hell, he used the com most times, I don't think he ever even wrote me a note." She watched with a detached fascination as first one, then a second fat tear hit the bamboo mat at her feet with a faint wet _plop_.

It was one thing to cry on her own, but she hated the weakness in her that would allow her to cry in front of someone. But right now she needed to talk about Wash, needed to know there was a reason for this raw ache, more than just phantom memories that would fade with time.

"His smell is starting to fade from his clothes and the sheets. And all I've got are some ugly shirts and a couple of plastic dinosaurs. I don't have anything of _him._" The part of her that was still a soldier and not a widow was horrified by the sob that escaped on the last word.

"He thought about you all the time." River's hair fell forward, shadowing her face even as Zoe looked back up at her.

"His thoughts are gone. All gone, just like the rest of him." Tears slid  
down her mocha cheeks, dripping off the edge of her jaw. "I don't know what his thoughts were; I never heard them, I don't have them." Moving away from the ladder, Zoe curled on the bed, hunching in on herself, bracing herself for the storm of tears to come.

River watched for a moment, letting the first mate's pain wash over her, before she drew back, whispering, "I do, Zoe. I do."

It was two nights later when Zoe found the bundle of papers on her bunk. His side of their bunk, actually. They were tied together with a black ribbon and, impossibly, smelled of Wash (salty air with a hint of citrus and a touch of machine oil). The handwriting was not his, but the words most definitely were.

_My beautiful wife, my darling Zoe…_


End file.
